toast

Early on in my 2nd pregnancy, I rang my husband one afternoon. When you go to creche to get Dominic, says I, can you pop into the electrical shop nearby and get us a toasted sandwich maker. Not a George Foreman, nothing fancy, a good old 80’s style toasted sandwich maker. He laughed disbelievingly, pointing out our small kitchen and would it not just gather dust in the cupboard. My rebuttal I’m sure contained the well known fact that I was carrying his child and if I required a toasted sandwich maker be procured in the next 2 hours, then goddammit, one had better appear.
On the way home from work that evening, I bought a white sliced pan, a rare treat in our house. We proceeded to have dinwiches. It’s dinner! It’s sandwiches! It’s dinwiches! How much was it anyhow says I, munching my way through my second round of sticky melted cheddar encased in golden Dairygold-covered toasty goodness. €13.99 says he. I spluttered, sure it’s paid for itself you wouldn’t get us 4 rounds of toasties in the pub for that. He agreed if it were to retire to a lonely spot in a cupboard that very evening forever more it would not have cost us anything. But it hasn’t dear reader, oh it hasn’t.

Following in his parents footsteps

For a while it remained an adult indulgence, cheese and ham for hubby, cheese and molten hot tomato for me. Since Dominic has come on board with the whole notion of sandwiches, we have now introduced him to the world of delight that is the toasted sambo. He’ll have to wait 15.5 years to see how amazing they are with a pint of stout though…

Like this:

It seems hard to fathom after a grey day of cold rain, dressed in my parka, that this time last week it was beautiful out. Nearly 20 degrees! In March! For about a week! The drying out was mighty. Lots of pottering in the garden was done, so consequently less tidying to be done come bedtime. That means good moods and good sleeps all round. Winner!

So although I didn’t set us up at the outdoor table just yet, as it was still March, there was plenty of eating out done.

Too busy for breakfast indoors – dry toast eaten under a blue sky and the watchful eye of a local cat. She’s not one of ours, acts like she is though.

I’ve just realised how odd our garden looks with our ugly breezeblock wall, strange cats, wilted plants, half hearted pots, and Sheela Na Gig overlooking the whole show. At least I can always rely on the hydrangea (far left) ready to burst in to bloom any month now, no matter how neglected.

(The wilted plants are this years indoor hyacinths, ready to return to dust and from dust they shall return next spring. The ferns are struggling, but I think they’re going to make it. The pots hold ignored baby carrots. And the grass is threatening to take over if I don’t do some weeding soon)

So it’s no surprise that we couldn’t spend all the sunny days in my shabby little back garden so we set off to Howth, land of seals, piers, boats, buskers, traffic, chips & 99 ice creams. He spent a good half hour running around the playground sometimes climbing on equipment but mostly excitedly pointing out the aquatic themed inlays in the rubber surface. Then after one collision with a bigger boy, we took a nice stroll along the pier pointing out rocks & boats – that took a while – and then mama needed some sustenance. I had a food packed for Dominic in anticipation of my carb fuelled lunch, but I think his dada explained the notion of “chippys” from the chipper while I queued inside so snacks were mainly ignored. Needless to say, he took to them fairly well noshing down in between collecting daisies for (‘auntie’) Paula who was with us. He burned off some of his carbs dancing to a trumpeting busker. I didn’t, I washed mine down with an icecream.

Like this:

Hello all, I’m feeling much better. I’m a bit warm still sometimes but I like the medsin, meddzenpink stuff I get when I’m a bit warm. I point at it when I see it but then mama goes and puts it in the room where I have my bath so I can’t see it and then I don’t think to cry for it. I’m really hungry and dada and mama are delighted about that. Food over one isn’t for fun anymore you see, it’s a serious business. When I was in the hopspital I didn’t eat anything all day until the very end and then when they saw me eat toast they sent me home. Is eating toast bold like standing up hitting Iggle Piggle on the tv?

I ate lots of fud yesterday and none of it came back up in a big puddle out of my mouth. I have made big puddles on my cot and my bedroom floor, and my chair and mama and dada’s bed and bedroom floor and the sofa, and the kitchen and everywhere I could think of. So today I ate porridge for breakfast and I didn’t want much of my water. But after I had a lovely long nap I wanted my sippy cup back and I had rice cakes with almond butter and some raisins at lunchtime, and a fruit pot and sweetcorn rings for a snack and then mama thought to make something she hadn’t made in ages which was spinach balls with pasta and courgette sauce . It was yummy and dada loves it too. mama left me some more for lunch today and dada kept eating them I saw him there better be enough for me because I AM BACK.